The Swami Speaks

On Friday, October 31st, an otherwise quiet Southwest City neighborhood will be transformed into a gauntlet of horror, a boulevard of blood eagerly awaiting troves of pint-sized treat seekers.

Over the past few years, Halloween has become quite an event in my neck of the woods. A competitive, yet friendly atmosphere prevails among a smattering of homes, neighbors bent on adding a peculiar chill to the already nippy October air.

To the North of me, on Maiden Lane, the pioneering Hughes family is the standard by which all Halloweeners in this burg are measured (Halloweneers? That just doesn't sound right, does it?). The Hughes dwelling connotes a gigantic stationary All-Hallows Eve parade float, dotted with orange lights and comical gravestones. The benevolent innkeepers of this horror hotel treat every caller as a welcomed guest and the edifice serves as a meeting point, "Spook Central", if you will, for the entire neighborhood.Just down the street a group of young upstarts are raising the stakes, converting the front of their rental into a full blown pirate ship complete with canons! Suited in full costume, these swashbuckling lads continually fire volleys at unsuspecting revelers eliciting screams and temporary deafness to all within ear shot. Following three such consecutive salvos my fearless Coonhound Mya buried herself under our bed ready to abandon ship!Not to be outdone by these Depp impersonating delinquents, I began to hatch my own Halloween strategy designed to attract hordes of street roaming kiddies and thus ridding myself and my family of the bagged sweets which financed our dentist's Lexus.As darkness descended on the final day of October I began to launch my plan. This year I would pose as "Swami Jon" the all-knowing, crystal ball gazing mystic and sultan of sweet treats. My crystal ball was an inverted fish bowl, my turban fashioned out of aluminum foil and a wool cap. I thought my head-gear looked great until a young visitor remarked that it looked like I was making Jiffy-Pop on my head. Nevertheless, I was ready. Soon the roving youths would arrive.Prior to forking over the candy, I would stop each trick-or-treater and proclaim "The bubble-gum is yours Sahib, but first I must read your fortune." Gazing wide-eyed into the ball, I would try to make a prediction related to their costume. To a tiny girl dressed as Snow White I offered the prophetic words "you will meet six... no SEVEN dwarfs in the forest." She stared blankly as if to say "Grow-up mister," grabbed a Hershey's Crunch Bar and left. I did get a laugh from a kid dressed as Darth Vader when I correctly predicted that he would be killed by his son in the third movie. The right kind of audience is critical for these kinds of things.One future attorney (skeptical of my powers) asked for my credentials, postulating that I was not a true seer. I assured him that I was quite genuine and that the famous dish "Veal Swami Jon" had been named after me by a thankful client. Not a moan, laugh or giggle from this tike, prompting me to tap on my magic crystal and inquire "Is this thing on?"

Overall, I was pretty much a flop as a swami. My Jiffy-Pop crown just didn't cut it. Towards the end of the night a child dressed as the Grim Reaper darkened by door. Upon greeting this vision, I slowly rose, abdicated my post and sighed "I knew I would be seeing you sooner or later Sir, I am ready to go right now."Thanksgiving is coming up. What do you think about a twenty-foot remote controlled turkey that flies around the vicinity dropping stuffing bombs in it's wake? All I need is some foil and four D batteries to get me started.